Deception
by JessicaRNY
Summary: This is an SVU/OZ crossover one-shot. Olivia mistakes Keller for Stabler... Whoopsie. This is very much, MA, AU, PWP. Please consult the story notes before you start reading for some important caveats.


Story notes

 **Dear readers:** This is not your friendly, fluffy, one-shot. This is dark and disturbing, and if dark and disturbing, well...disturbs you, I'd highly recommend that you go off in search of a different fic. For those of you who haven't seen Chris Meloni on Oz, his character, Chris Keller, is a sociopath (i.e. manipulation, deceit, lack of remorse). Consider yourselves warned... (Also, if you _haven't_ seen Meloni on this show, I would highly suggest that you run to HBO to see it).

* * *

 **Deception**

* * *

From the moment she storms into the bar, he's drawn to her. Her face is flushed in anger, her wrath radiating off of her in waves, demanding space from all those who might have otherwise been tempted to approach her. She's gorgeous, exotic, and the fact that she's chosen to frequent this particular bar at this hour of night leads him to believe that she doesn't scare easily. She's bold, confident. Reckless.

He wants her beneath him.

He studies her from the shadows as she wastes no time in plopping herself down onto a stool and ordering a beer. She drains half of the bottle before taking a breath, her leg bouncing furiously against the seat. She raises it to her lips once more, not stopping until she gulps down the rest and slams it back on the counter.

He smiles. It's not enough. She needs something harder.

She ignores the lascivious stare from the bartender and roughly slides the empty bottle in his direction. She orders a shot of vodka…and another.

He understands. She doesn't care about the taste; she's after the burn.

She orders a third shot but doesn't drink it. She's waiting on the effects to kick in. She wants to remain in control – the alcohol is meant to dull, not obliterate.

She absently traces the rim of the glass with her index finger, staring ahead at the bottles of liquor that line the shelves behind the bar. He takes the opportunity to approach her, coming to stand to her left. He leans his forearm on the counter and rakes his eyes over her body. He says nothing, merely watches and waits, a confident smirk on his face as she continues to pretend that she is unaware of his attention.

She ignores him for several long minutes, finally breathing a sigh of frustration when it becomes clear that he has no intention of leaving her alone. She glances up at him and a glimmer of surprise passes over her features before she shoots him a venomous glare. She returns her gaze to her drink. "Fuck off, Elliot. I've had enough of your crap for one day."

Her words throw him for a loop. Evidently she thinks she knows him. His smirk deepens and he cocks an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by her brush-off.

"Is that how you greet all of the men who come to buy you a drink?"

She doesn't know what brought him to this dive, but it only succeeds in ratcheting up her anger another notch. No matter what she does, she can't get away from him. She hazards another brief glance in his direction. He's changed clothes since their screaming match at the precinct, and is now wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a fitted black T-shirt. She pretends not to notice the way the shirt draws attention to the defined muscles beneath. In fact, she's so hell bent on _not_ noticing him, that she misses the glaring differences: the absence of the Marine tattoo on the inside of his forearm, his bare ring finger.

"As you can see, I already have a drink, and I certainly don't need one from you."

He chuckles, casually scratching his chest and enjoying the way she continues to pretend not to watch his every move out of the corner of her eye. He cocks his head, his intrigue mounting by the second. He slowly straightens, but instead of backing off to give her space like she had anticipated, he moves to stand directly behind her, bracing his arms on the bar on either side of her. He leans forward, his mouth hovering over her ear. "By the way you were throwing them back a moment ago, I hardly believe that this one's gonna be your last."

Her breathing quickens. She doesn't remember the last time that they were this close to one another and it catches her off guard. His body heat is permeating the thin cotton of her shirt – taunting her – and she fights the urge to lean against him. "Go to hell," she snaps, downing the third shot with a trembling hand. His proximity is making her uneasy. Warning bells are going off in her head, but she silences them quickly out of pure denial.

He lifts his head but does not back away. She wants him. He knows it. She's doing everything in her power to push him away, to cling to her anger, but he isn't fooled. He licks his lower lip and breathes in the subtle fragrance of her hair. "Looks like you could use that drink right about now," he says smugly.

It's the last straw.

She slams her back against his chest and he withdraws his right arm, watching as she stands and angrily digs into her pocket, sifting through bills and tossing some onto the counter. "You don't know the first thing about what I need," she hisses.

There is fire in her eyes, and it makes him want her even more. His eyes darken with desire, and she noticeably backs up a step. He's shaken her, but she recovers quickly.

"Go home to your _wife_ , Elliot," she hurls at him before storming out of the bar and into the night.

His eyes narrow and his lips quirk into a dangerous smile. There's nothing he loves more than a challenge.

* * *

She doesn't take the subway. She's practically shaking from anger and makes it over ten blocks on pure adrenaline before the thought even crosses her mind. It's on the fifteenth block that she gradually becomes aware of the footsteps behind her. It's on the eighteenth block that she realizes that the footsteps cease whenever she pauses at an intersection. It's on the nineteenth block when she whirls around to find a vacant sidewalk with the exception of a couple walking in the opposite direction that she starts to become nervous. She continues to scan the area but detects no signs of movement.

She turns back around, quickening her pace.

He watches her from the shadows, feels her fear. He's exhilarated by it.

When she doesn't hear anything for a while, she begins to wonder if she imagined it – a side effect of the alcohol coursing through her system – but then the footsteps resume. Her heart is in her throat. She never slows her pace. Just a few more blocks, she rationalizes. She can make it. She pulls out her keys, clutching them tightly in her hand.

Three more blocks…two more blocks…one more block…

She finally reaches her building and jogs up the steps. She hurriedly tries to get inside, but her hand is shaking and she struggles to get the key in the lock. The combination of alcohol and fear isn't helping her coordination, and as she jabs the key forward she fumbles, the keychain clattering to the ground.

"Fuck," she curses under her breath. She shouldn't have had that last shot.

She stoops to retrieve it and as her fingers brush the cement she catches sight of the shadowy figure of a man standing at the foot of her steps. She whirls around and straightens so quickly that it makes her head spin.

"Jesus, El. You scared the shit out of me."

He says nothing, slowly beginning to climb the stairs. He studies her with an intensity that is bordering on predatory. It makes her nervous.

"What is with you tonight?" she asks, turning away from him and shakily flipping through the keys on the ring.

Eventually she finds it, her hand still shaking as she blindly thrusts it forward. Her breath hitches as his hand covers hers, slowly guiding the key into the lock. He doesn't let go of her hand, the entire length of his body brushing against her back. His warm breath is hitting the nape of her neck and sending shivers down her spine.

"El-"

"Stop fighting me," he commands.

She rests her forehead against the door. "Don't do this," she pleads, her voice barely above a whisper.

He remains silent, his nose nestling into her hair, breathing in her scent. His fingers close around hers and he twists their joined hands, forcing her to open the door. He watches as her head droops and her shoulders go slack in submission. He releases her hand but doesn't budge. He isn't leaving her a choice. The only direction she can go is forward.

She trudges up the stairs, all the while feeling his presence behind her. Burning her.

By the time she reaches the top she is angry again – at her weakness or his confidence, she isn't sure. Damn him. She enters the darkened apartment and hears him close the door behind her…locking it. She rests her palms on her counter, keeping her back toward him.

She sighs with fatigue. "Elliot, please go." She hates the tremble in her voice.

"No."

The calm defiance in his tone pisses her off. She whirls around to face him, and the fire is back in her eyes. "God damn you."

It turns him on even more. He wonders what his doppelganger did to incite the rage within her. He wants to unleash it.

"What?" she fumes at his continued silence, the amused smirk on his face. "It's not enough for you to make my life a living hell at the precinct? You have to bring it into my home?"

Keller's eyes flash and his smirk deepens. His doppelganger is a cop. _She's_ a cop.

Her voice continues to rise. "Get. The fuck. Out."

His eyes narrow in challenge and he steps forward, encroaching on her space. "No."

She raises her hand to slap him across the face but he's faster. His iron grip closes around her wrist, wrenching her arm behind her back as he forces her the few feet back against the counter. She winces.

"I don't know what the hell you think you're playing at-" She pushes against his chest with her free hand.

"Who's playing?"

Now she's officially nervous. Turned on. Terrified. She struggles against his hold. "Let go of me."

"No."

"You're hurting me."

He responds with a low chuckle. "You want me to."

Her eyes widen. "I-I don't."

He rakes his eyes over her body, eventually focusing on the hardened nipples protruding through the fabric of her shirt. "Your body doesn't seem to agree with you, now does it?" he rumbles, leaning into her so that she has to bend backward to keep his lips from touching hers.

She swallows. It's more like a gulp. The edge of the counter is stabbing into her spine and her arm is throbbing painfully. His other hand snakes around the back of her head, gripping her hair and forcing her to arch back even further.

Her chest is heaving from arousal and fear, and he watches as she struggles to conceal both from him. She's strong. He's frightening her, but she's refusing to admit it. She won't beg. She'll never beg. His eyes darken with want and a hint of danger. He vows to break her. He'll never harm her, but he wants to claim her. He's going to make her beg.

"Get your hands off of me," she warns.

His hand releases her hair and for a moment she thinks he's relenting, but then he slides his hand down her body, down her side, over her hip, around her lower back. Feeling…feeling… He pauses, his smile broadening dangerously. She feels him tug sharply upward and before her mind is able to process what he's found, she feels the cold pinch of metal closing around her wrist.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she panics, pushing against him and trying in vain to prevent him from wrenching her other arm behind her back, trapping her wrist in the other bracelet. "Elliot, what the hell?" she pants, genuinely alarmed.

Both of his hands are now free to roam. One returns to snake into her hair, and his other trails a path from her waist up along her ribcage.

She attempts to shock him back to his senses. "What, now you decide to try your hand at sexual assault?"

It doesn't work.

He never falters, his hand moving higher to close around her breast.

"That depends."

"D-depends on what?" she grits, struggling against his hold. His hand tightens its grip on her hair, and she's now bent over the counter so far that she is forced to rise up onto her tiptoes to still make contact with the floor.

"How hard you decide to fight me."

Her eyes widen in shock and fear. Her leg muscle jerks against him in an attempt at a kick, but she doesn't have enough leverage. He laughs and steps between her legs, preventing her from using them against him. She lets out a sound of frustration and weakly calls out to him as he widens his stance, further opening her legs to him.

She is now completely at his mercy. It terrifies her. She trusts him, but has never seen this side of her partner. The Elliot she knows would have stopped his advances long ago. Then again, the Elliot she knows wouldn't have started this to begin with.

He studies her. She's no longer trying to hide her fear. He has the control. She knows it. He could rip off her clothes, hold her down, and embed himself within her in one deep thrust, and she could do nothing to prevent this. His hand moves higher, releasing her breast and instead moving to curl around the column of her throat. He doesn't apply pressure. He simply rests it there. The message is clear. Her life is in his hands.

Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, and he knows her hands would be shaking if they weren't pinned beneath her. He sees the shimmer of tears in her eyes, but knows immediately that these are not from fear. No. These are from something else – something deeper… Recognition flashes in his eyes. Love. She loves the man she believes him to be – the man that hurt her enough that she sought refuge in the dulling abyss of a vodka-induced haze.

"Tell me," he commands, his voice low, rough.

Her brows immediately knit together in pain. "No."

"Tell me," he repeats, rocking against the crux of her thighs.

She gasps. "You're a bastard," she chokes out. She will not break down in front of him, no matter how far he pushes her, no matter what he does to her.

He loosens his hold on her hair, his thumb stroking her scalp, his touch gentle despite the tightly coiled aggression evident in his body language. He is not a rapist. He would never force her. The way she is looking up at him makes it clear that she is suddenly unsure as to whether he might.

He prolongs the power play. He rolls his hips and her thighs involuntarily tighten on either side of his legs, keeping him in place despite her whimper of protest. He removes his hand from her throat, pressing his palm into the counter by her head, bracing himself as he looms over her, his face mere inches from hers. "There's fear in your eyes," he rumbles, daring her to challenge him.

She sets her jaw, her heart pounding.

He smiles at the defiance in her expression, his tone lowering further. "Are you afraid of me?"

"No," she responds a little too quickly.

His eyes narrow at her lie. "No?" He slowly looks up and down her body, unbridled lust in his expression. He slips his hand from her hair, slowly dragging it over her torso and pelvis, reveling in her sharp intake of breath as she anticipates his destination. But then he stops his downward path, trailing it back up her body. He slowly bends over her. "You should be," he breathes hotly into her ear.

She shivers, turning her head to the side.

He grabs her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. "I could do anything I want right now," he purrs, his thumb brushing along her lower lip. "Anything at all, and you couldn't lift a finger to stop me."

She is trembling and he replaces his finger with his mouth, taking advantage of her gasp to thrust his tongue into her mouth as he grinds against her. He swallows her cry, setting a slow, rocking rhythm as he continues to mirror the action with his tongue. She arches against him, powerless to control her body's response. He pulls away, skimming his lips along her cheek and the shell of her ear, never stilling the languid motion of his pelvis against hers. "I could push inside of you right here…stretch you…fill you…deeper and deeper until you came harder than you've ever come before."

She's breathing so rapidly that she feels lightheaded, aware only of his proximity, the timbre of his voice, the feel of his body moving against hers. This is wrong, but God she wants him. He stills and she whimpers, biting her lip as he pushes up on his arms and looks down at her.

He sees her desire waging battle with her anxiety at her loss of control. She strikes him as a woman who rarely allows herself to be put in such a vulnerable position. He hasn't given her a choice. He has taken her control from her. He wonders how far she'll let him take this.

"Do you trust me?" he asks brazenly. It's not him that she trusts. He doesn't care.

She bites her lip, terrified to respond in any manner for fear of the repercussions of the decision she makes.

"Yes," comes her broken reply.

He devours her with his eyes. "Are you prepared to obey?"

She pales slightly. She can't read him and it scares her.

He watches as she gathers her courage.

"Yes," she whispers almost inaudibly.

"Are you prepared to be punished if you disobey me?"

His eyes are dark, dangerous, and another wave of panic courses through her. She looks away, her body trembling from adrenaline and desire. He trails the back of his hand along her cheek, and she glances back up at him. The gesture is soothing, but his expression remains predatory. She shivers, nodding in response before she loses her nerve.

He smiles smugly, withdrawing his hand as he contemplates his next move. He sweeps his eyes over her body and his jaw clenches as he roughly grabs her by her hair, forcing her to tilt her head to the side. Just as his lips are about to descend upon the exposed flesh her small voice stops him.

"W-what are you going to do to me?"

He smiles to himself before raising his head to meet her tentative gaze.

She's afraid that her question will make him angry. She told him she trusted him and she had just turned around and voiced her fear. She waits for him to tell her that she's at his mercy, that she has no choice but to comply with his every request, and then he surprises her by slowly leaning over her and brushing his lips against her forehead.

"Nothing you don't want me to do," he murmurs.

He pulls back to make eye contact, waiting until she nods before resuming his prior descent, his mouth latching onto the delicate skin of her neck.

She gasps, his ministrations distracting her from the pain in her arms. His other hand slides down over her hip, hooking beneath her leg and pulling her more tightly against him. He slides his hand from her hair to hook behind her neck, pulling her up until she's seated on the edge of the counter. He captures her lips again, his hand sliding down her back before slipping beneath her shirt to run along her spine. She wants to wrap her arms around him – to press against him even more closely, and she lets out a small sound of frustration as she pulls against her restraints.

He smiles against her lips, pulling back slightly. "Is there a problem here?" he asks, cocking a brow.

She leans forward, skimming her cheek against his as she catches his earlobe between her teeth, tugging lightly before releasing it. "I just want to touch you," she breathes seductively.

He chuckles at her attempt to turn the tables. She definitely isn't used to handing over her control to someone else, and she's doing everything in her power to regain it. He trails a series of kisses along her jaw line as he speaks, his thumb tracing her collarbone. "Well, the way I see it, you have two options. You can either have the use of your hands…or you can have your sight." He pulls back and suppresses a smile at her wide-eyed expression. Clearly she was anticipating that he'd relent. His eyes narrow. "But you're not allowed to have both."

She swallows.

He cocks his head to the side, his hand tracing lazy circles on her back. "So, what's it gonna be?" His hand shifts, his fingertip lightly stroking the line of skin above the waistband of her pants. "Because if you don't give me an answer soon, I'm going to take both from you."

Her heart is racing. Neither option makes her feel particularly comfortable, but she decides that she would rather have the use of her hands. "H-hands," she stammers.

He purses his lips, considering her response. Undoubtedly she thinks that having her hands free will give her slightly more control over the situation. What she doesn't realize is that he has absolutely no intention of permitting this. "Fair enough," he says, glancing around the room until he finds a blindfold in the form of a sheer scarf hanging on the back of her door. He slides his hands along her thighs as he moves away to retrieve it, folding it over on itself several times to make sure she won't be able to see through it. He rakes his eyes over her body as he approaches her, walking around to stand behind her on the opposite side of the counter. He moves to place the material over her eyes when she tenses again.

"Wait," she calls out to him.

He smiles, letting his hands fall away.

"I-I thought you said one or the other."

"Mm-hmm," he affirms, running the back of his hand along one of her restrained arms. "But I also said you couldn't have both…and that means that before I release these," he murmurs, his fingertips stroking her wrists above the cuffs, "I need to take _these_ ," he continues, moving his hands to touch his fingers to the sides of her eyes. He skims his fingers along her temples, lightly raking them through her hair.

She shivers.

He doesn't wait for her to respond, but picks up the scarf once more, slowly moving it in front of her and working to situate it over her eyes. He ties the ends, gently pulling them until it fits snugly against her. He makes a knot for good measure and walks back in front of her, testing her to ensure that she can't see anything. When he's satisfied that this is the case, he finds the small key on her ring that unlocks the cuffs and moves to free her.

She hears the sound of the mechanism clicking open and feels as first her left and then her right wrists are released, yet as soon as the metal is gone, his hands firmly wrap around her, massaging away the tenderness while he continues to restrain her.

"Now, before I let you go, you need to be clear on the rules," he warns.

"Rules?" she chokes out.

"Yes," he hisses, tugging on her arms.

Her breath hitches.

"Rule number one: under no circumstances do you make a move to pull at this blindfold."

She nods.

"Rule number two: when you want to do something – _anything_ – you ask my permission."

She nods again, nervously chewing on her lower lip.

"Rule number three: when I tell you to do something, you do it."

She freezes, her breathing rapid and shallow as she is suddenly struck by another wave of anxiety.

Though she cannot see his expression, he smiles knowingly at her response. He loosens his grip on her wrists, slowly and soothingly running his hands up and down her arms as he moves them to a more comfortable position at her sides. " _But_ ," he continues softly, "If you don't want to do something, I want you to tell me you need to stop."

She relaxes somewhat. "Okay," she manages.

He slips his hands beneath her arms, running them up her sides, his fingers brushing along the outsides of her breasts as he trails them back down her body. Her breathing quickens at the contact, yet as soon as his hands reach her waist, he moves away. She strains her ears, trying to determine both his location and his actions, her decision to allow him to take away her power of sight increasingly seeming like a bad idea.

Behind her he quietly toes off his shoes and socks, pulling his T-shirt over his head and letting it fall to the floor. He stealthily returns to stand before her, watching as she nervously licks her lips and waits for his next move. Her hands are clutching the countertop, her chest rising and falling rapidly. He wonders which aspect of her current vulnerability frightens her the most – whether it has to do with the horrors she's encountered on the job, or whether it runs deeper than that.

"Stand up," he commands her quietly.

She startles slightly, his voice coming from a different direction than the one she had anticipated. She does as she is told, sliding herself off of the counter to stand just before it.

"Good," he murmurs. "Now take off your shirt – slowly."

She bites her lip, her hands slowly rising to undo the first several buttons on her top. Her fingers are trembling. She tells herself that he's seen her before – quickly changing in the locker room to get to a scene or to ready herself for a court appearance – but this is different. She can feel his eyes burning her, examining her every move.

He studies her reaction, and realizes that this isn't just anxiety at her loss of control. He realizes that they – she and the man she believes him to be – have never done this before. He watches as she crisscrosses her arms, taking a hold of the hem of her shirt and slowly dragging it up her torso. She pulls it over her head, letting the material slip off her arms and fall to her feet. He almost groans in appreciation.

"Now your pants."

She shivers. His voice has deepened with arousal. She slips out of her shoes, and moves her hands to undo the button at her waistband, slowly lowering the zipper. She hooks her thumbs beneath the fabric of her pants and eases them down over her hips, her thighs, using her feet to work them the rest of the way down her body. She steps out of them gracefully, sliding them to the side.

She now stands before him wearing nothing but a set of matching lingerie of satin and lace that leaves little to the imagination. He is unable to make out the color in the darkness, but as her chest rises and falls in the moonlight he wonders if it's a deep blue.

She's stunning.

The longer he remains silent, the more uncomfortable she becomes, and she starts to move her arms to wrap around her waist.

"No. I want to look at you."

She slides her arms apart, moving them back to her sides. She shifts her weight nervously, feeling incredibly exposed.

"El?" she asks in small voice when she can't take it anymore.

He approaches her then, and she feels the warmth of his body from where he stands a couple of inches away.

"Can…can I touch you?" she asks.

"Say, 'please'," he instructs her.

"Please?" she whispers.

He reaches for her, skimming his fingers along the underside of her arm as he takes a hold of her right hand and guides it toward him. He places a kiss in the center of her palm and then releases her, holding still as her delicate fingers trace the lines of his jaw. She tentatively brings her left hand to mirror her right, lightly trailing her hands lower, down the column of his throat and over his broad shoulders. Her breathing quickens as she realizes his chest is bare, and she flattens her palms against him, smoothing them over the defined muscles of his chest, his abdomen. As she reaches the waistband of his pants, his hands close around her wrists, preventing her from continuing.

"Enough," he tells her.

"Ple-" she tries again, but he cuts her off.

He takes both of her wrists in his right hand, wrapping his left arm around her as he picks her up and pivots her so that her back is pressed against the wall, the plaster cool against her skin. He pins her arms above her head. "I said _enough_ ," he warns.

She nods, her heart racing.

He trails his left hand up her torso, cupping her breast in his palm. "Say you're sorry," he instructs, his tone low.

"I'm s-sorry," she manages, inhaling sharply as his thumb brushes across her nipple.

He releases her breast, using both of his hands to separate her wrists, guiding her arms back down to her sides and directing her to flatten her palms against the wall. He releases them, leaning forward to brush his lips against hers. "You are not to move those hands, understood?"

She swallows and nods, and no sooner has she done so than his mouth hungrily claims hers. She moans into him. It feels as though his hands are everywhere at once and she presses her hands against the wall as hard as she can to prevent herself from reaching out to him. His mouth rips away from hers and he trails open-mouthed kisses along her neck, her chest, descending upon her breast as he teases her through the satin of her bra. His hands are encircling her waist, slipping over her hips, stroking the skin of her inner thighs. The sensations are overwhelming and she can't focus on a single one at a time, and before she realizes what she's doing, her right hand lifts from the wall, gripping onto the back of his head.

Immediately he pulls away, his hand firmly closing around her wrist as he pushes it back against the wall. "What did I say?"

She tilts her head back against the wall, trying to regain her bearings. "I'm sorry," she pants.

He straightens, gripping onto her jaw. "I didn't get that."

"S-sorry," she repeats.

He releases her jaw and moves his mouth over her ear. "On your knees."

She tenses, her free hand coming to clutch onto his arm, her chin dropping to her chest as though she is avoiding looking him in the eye despite her obstructed vision. "Please no," she whispers almost inaudibly. "I…I can't…after…" she trails off.

His brow furrows in recognition. He doesn't know the specifics. He doesn't need to. He releases her wrist and cups her face in his hands. "Okay."

She chews on the inside of her lower lip, ashamed by her admission. "Anything else," she murmurs. "I'll do whatever you say. Just…just not…"

"Shh," he soothes, skimming his lips over her cheekbone. "Let me play?" he asks.

She nods.

He wraps his arms around her, running his hand over the curve of her hip and beneath her. She takes the hint, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carries her the few feet back to the counter. He sets her down on the edge, his hands smoothing over her back as he captures her lips once more. He is still demanding, and she is grateful that he hasn't backed away from his power play in light of her mini breakdown.

He pulls away, his hands caressing the arch of her breasts before he hooks his thumbs beneath the straps of her bra, easing them down her shoulders. He moves one hand around her back to unclasp it, while his other hand slides upward along the column of her throat. She allows him to pull it from her, slipping her arms from the straps as he tosses it to the floor. She grips onto the edges of the counter, doing all that she can to obey his prior directive and not reach out to him as his hands cup her breasts, gently kneading her as his tongue plunders her mouth once more. His teeth close over her lower lip, tugging lightly before releasing it and darting his tongue out to soothe it as he brings one of his arms around her back. He removes his other hand from her breast, drawing it along her body and easing her backward until she is lying down on the counter, her legs dangling over the edge on either side of him.

His rests his palm on her abdomen, his thumb stroking her lightly. "Don't move," he commands before releasing her and backing away.

She hears the sound of a familiar door opening and shutting and she wonders just what he has in store for her.

He returns a moment later, once again taking his place between her legs as he leans over her. "New game," he tells her, devouring her with his eyes. "You can do whatever you want with your hands, but you can't make a sound."

She nods, uncertain as to whether the game has already begun, and before she can even complete her thought, icy wetness encircles her nipple. She gasps at the sensation but does not cry out.

He smiles at her reaction. He hadn't given her any warning. He continues to play with the cube, watching her nipple harden in response. He shifts his attention to the other side, teasing her as his mouth descends on the first. She arches into him, struggling to suppress the moan that threatens to escape her lips.

He changes tactics, holding the ice between his teeth as he trails it down her body. She stiffens in anticipation as he continues to move lower, slowly moving it over the satin covering her core. He drags it lightly over her center and her hips buck toward him, her hands clamping down over her mouth as if this would be enough to prevent him from hearing her if she were to make a sound. He teases her, tracing figure eights, applying just the right amount of pressure over her clit to make her writhe beneath him.

His hands run upward along her thighs, his nails lightly raking the sensitive skin of her pelvis as he tucks his fingers beneath the satin. He raises his head, pulling the fabric over her hips and down her legs. He smiles at the picture she paints before his eyes. Her body is incredible. He hooks his hands beneath her knees and tugs her further toward the edge, sliding his hands up her thighs and coaxing her legs further apart. He leans forward once more, lightly dragging the cube over her, and this time he ups the ante by dipping it inside of her.

She gasps, her hands falling from her mouth to clutch the counter. He starts to mimic a slow thrusting motion with the ice as he strokes her clit with his thumb. She arches against him, her walls clenching around the cube with each pass. Then suddenly the ice is gone and his tongue is there, stroking her intimately as she bucks against him. Her hands move to clutch his head and he chuckles, the vibration only intensifying the sensations spreading throughout her body. He draws his free hand up to caress her breast, his fingers closing around her nipple, teasing her as he continues the gentle strokes of his hand and tongue. It's too much. She arches against him sharply and her climax overtakes her, and as hard as she tries to remain silent, she can do nothing to stifle her cry.

He holds her in place, slowly continuing the gentle strokes of his tongue within her and prolonging her high. Eventually he allows her to come down, placing one last kiss on her center before skimming his lips over her abdomen, his chest brushing against hers as he leans over her. He slides the blindfold up and off of her, smoothing his hand over her hair. Her eyes flutter open to meet his, and he bows his head, kissing her deeply. He gives her a few more moments to recover before pushing himself up on his arms and looking down at her. "I thought I made it clear that you were not to utter a sound," he tells her, his eyes narrowing in challenge.

She swallows, once again taken aback by the hint of danger in his eyes. Her eyes drift lower, taking in his muscular form, and she shivers at the thought of him using his strength against her. She wonders how it's possible that now, with her sight restored, she feels even more vulnerable than she did before. She doesn't know how he wants her to respond – whether she's now permitted to speak, or whether he's testing her compliance.

She closes her eyes, trying to calm her nerves, and his hand is immediately at her throat.

"No," he commands sharply. "Look at me."

She obeys, her heart thudding in her ears. His grip around her throat is firm but not intended to cause her any harm, yet the combination of his hold and her position beneath him is an explicit reminder that he continues to have the power to do with her what he will.

He takes in her shallow breathing and once again sees trust battling with unease in her expression. He takes hold of the scarf once more, releasing her long enough to undo the knot before he grabs her wrists and wraps the material around her, binding her wrists and forearms together. When he has her secured, he hoists her up and over his shoulder, carrying her to the bedroom and depositing her roughly on the foot of the bed. He backs up, standing several feet away as he looks down at her. After a moment he speaks, his voice low. "Undo my belt."

She moves so that she is seated on the very edge of the bed, but still he is out of reach. Her eyes widen at the implications of his command. The only way that she can complete his request is by kneeling before him. If she stands, the angle at which he has bound her arms won't permit the action.

He watches her silent struggle, eventually attempting to offer her some reassurance. "Trust me," he murmurs.

She exhales shakily, trying to cling to the trust in order to push past the fear. She stands, crossing the remaining distance between them. His eyes hold hers as she slowly lowers herself to her knees. She drops her gaze to focus on his belt, trying to push the memories from her mind as she lifts her trembling hands to undo the buckle. Once the leather has been unsheathed, she pauses, awaiting the command she knows to follow.

"Now the fly," he continues softly.

She falters momentarily, but he gives her time. Eventually she undoes the button at his waistband, slowly lowering his zipper.

If possible, his voice becomes even quieter. "Take them off."

She struggles with the task and his hands still her movements, undoing the knot and slipping the scarf from her arms. He knows that this is already difficult for her, and he doesn't want to add to her fear by taking away her ability to defend herself. He tosses it to the side and silently waits for her to continue.

Her hands come to rest on his thighs, and she curls her fingers around the denim of his jeans, slowly dragging them down his body.

He steps out of them, kicking them to the side. Her head is bowed, her gaze trained at the floor. He slips his fingers through her hair, his hand coming to rest beneath her chin, coaxing her head up to face him. Her expression is haunted, her face pale.

" _Trust me_ ," he repeats.

She nods up at him, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Take them off," he instructs, his fingers combing gently through her hair.

She finally lowers her gaze to his body, tentatively hooking her fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers as she slides them down his legs.

He steps out of them, holding completely still but for the motion of his hand in her hair. He can feel her trembling, and his other hand comes to rest lightly on her shoulder.

She is caught in between conflicting emotions. His body is an incredible combination of power and beauty. She longs to touch him, yet she's fearful at what he might expect from her should she give in to her desire. Eventually he surprises her by lowering himself to kneel opposite her, momentarily leveling the playing field.

She looks at him with confusion etched in her features, and he smiles slightly before leaning forward and brushing her lips with his.

"I told you to trust me," he says.

Gratitude washes over her expression but is quickly replaced by pain as she realizes just how profoundly she has been affected by her experience at Sealview. She wonders if she'll ever be able to regain what has been stolen from her.

He sees the darkness in her eyes and lightly rakes his nails over her scalp. "Stay with me," he breathes, his left hand caressing her breast.

She shivers, leaning into his touch. She opens her mouth to ask something, but stops herself – the rules a jumbled blur in her mind.

He chuckles, pleased that she's still willing to yield her control. "You have my permission to speak… _for now_ ," he qualifies.

"Can I touch you?" she asks softly.

He nods, letting his hands fall away.

She reaches toward him, sliding her palms along his thighs. She bites her lip, suddenly feeling shy as her fingers trail along his lower abdomen, eventually closing around him as she lightly strokes the length of him. Her eyes flit up to meet his, watching as the tendon in his jaw stands out as he tries to prevent himself from thrusting into her palm. She drops her gaze once more, feeling the warmth of him as he pulses against her hand. Her breathing quickens as she imagines what he would feel like inside of her, and her fingers involuntarily tighten around him.

He swallows a groan, pushing her hand away as he pulls her into a crushing embrace, his mouth crashing onto hers as his hand tangles in her hair. The weight of him forces her to the ground, his hands closing around her wrists and pinning them to the floor on either side of her head. She gasps as his mouth descends on her breast, her pelvis arching toward him, longing to feel him move within her. He grinds against her, but does not penetrate her. He knows that she's aching for him but refuses to grant her the release. No. Not yet. He wants her to beg.

She whimpers, writhing beneath him. He shifts his attention to her other breast, teasing her as he rocks his pelvis against hers, rubbing himself back and forth along her slick folds. She wraps her legs around him as she tries to get closer to him, but still he won't relent. It's when he rolls his hips against hers that she cries out, her entire body shaking from need.

"Please," she implores him.

"Please _what_?" he asks, prolonging her agony.

"I want you," she breathes.

"Not good enough," he snarls, pushing himself up to look into her eyes.

She moans as he rubs himself against her once more. "I-I need you inside of me," she tries again.

" _How_?" he rumbles into her ear.

She lets out a sound of frustration. "However you want me," she rasps, trying to catch him off guard.

His eyes narrow dangerously. "Be careful," he warns.

Her eyes flash back at him. " _Take_ me," she hisses in challenge.

He growls, pulling away and roughly flipping her over onto all fours, not giving her any warning before he grasps onto her hips and embeds himself within her in one deep thrust.

She cries out, not sure whether it's from pleasure or pain.

"Are you sure?" he grits.

He pulls almost all of the way out and forcefully yanks her toward him as he buries himself to the hilt once more.

She gasps, her back arching as her walls close around him.

"You want _this_?"

He repeats his actions and she is so overcome by the sensation of him stretching her that the only sound she is capable of making is another high-pitched gasp.

He holds still, knowing that he is hurting her. He grabs a fistful of her hair, forcing her head to arch further backward, his lips descending to hover above her ear. "You want it rough?"

"Yes," she chokes out, wincing against his hold.

"You think you can take it?" he asks, pulling out and slamming back inside of her.

"Ungh," she grimaces. "Yes," she pants.

He considers her response, his eyes narrowing as he quickly smacks her on the ass.

She gasps. It wasn't hard enough to be bruising, but it was meant to sting.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" he leads menacingly, punctuating the question with another tug on her hair.

She inhales sharply through her teeth. "Yes, _please_ ," she corrects herself.

"That's better," he says, releasing his hold.

She braces herself as he begins an unforgiving rhythm against her, each thrust seemingly deeper than the last. His hand snakes around her to fondle her breasts, pinching and tugging on her nipples until she wants to cry out just from that, but she's incapable of making any sounds other than the small whimpers of pain and pleasure he's ripping from her throat as he forces her body to accommodate his. He slips his hand from her breasts down her torso, her skin slick from the thin sheen of sweat forming along her body as she struggles to hold herself up. His fingers find her clit, and she's lost in an overwhelming surge of pleasure, arching and moaning uncontrollably as he continues to bury himself inside of her.

She's shaking from the strain and he abruptly pulls out of her completely, flipping her onto her back.

"Don't stop," she manages, her eyes hooded with desire as she reaches for him.

He grabs her wrists, shoving them above her head as he thrusts back inside of her, resuming his rhythm and gradually picking up the pace until she can no longer process the sensations coursing through her. His chest is rubbing against her sensitized nipples with every pass and her inner muscles are clamping onto him so tightly that she feels her climax approaching more rapidly and intensely than ever before.

"That's it. Come for me, baby," he purrs, and no sooner do the words leave his mouth than she cries out in ecstasy, her walls convulsing around him as she arches against the strong hands that hold her down. He feels his control slipping away and he drives himself inside of her one last time before the sensations she's causing push him over the edge and he collapses on top of her shuddering form.

* * *

Her awareness gradually returns, and she feels his hands slip from around her wrists, his weight lifting from her upper body as he props himself up on his arms. She opens her eyes and he offers her a sated smile, leaning over and capturing her lips in a soft kiss.

He lifts his head and takes in her appearance. Damp strands of hair are clinging to her neck. Her face is flushed and her lips are full. She's beautiful. He pushes himself back as he slides out of her and she grimaces slightly.

"You okay?" he asks, peeling away one of the strands of hair from her neck.

"Yeah," she responds huskily. Her lips quirk into a small smile. "I could use a shower."

He licks his lips suggestively. "I think we can arrange that."

He wraps his arms around her waist, helping to pull her to her feet. She leans on him as they make their way into the hallway but then thinks better of it, trying to remind herself of what this night is and isn't. Nothing can come of this. Nothing should have happened to begin with. She attempts to push the thoughts out of her head. She isn't a stranger to one-night stands. Tonight should be no different.

"I'm um, I'm going to go get some water," she tells him, heading toward the kitchen.

He nods, continuing on to the bathroom and beginning to run the water for the shower.

She enters soon after to find him lighting the last of the votive candles she keeps sprinkled around the room. She chuckles, offering him the bottle of water. "What, now you're going to get all tender and romantic on me?"

He takes a sip and hands it back to her. "I have layers," he replies innocently, yet even before the words are out of his mouth he is slowly approaching her, a familiar predatory glint in his eye.

She turns away under the guise of closing the door while she attempts to collect herself. It doesn't work. No sooner has she shut the door than she sees his reflection in the full-length mirror. His eyes hold hers as he continues to approach her, the candlelight drawing attention to his chiseled muscles. His hands skim down her arms and then he steps toward her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he pulls her against him.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" he murmurs against her temple.

She clears her throat self-consciously and turns her head to the side. "El-" she protests.

He takes hold of her chin, turning her head back to face the mirror. "You are," he breathes, his tongue darting into her ear. His right hand slides from her chin down her throat, his left idly tracing circles on her abdomen before moving to cup her breast in his palm. Her breathing quickens and he smiles, drawing both hands down her body, his fingertips just barely grazing the skin of her inner thighs. She shudders and he starts to move his right hand toward her center.

She stiffens, not sure that she's ready for him to touch her again.

"I'll be gentle," he soothes, placing a series of kisses along the side of her throat.

His hand continues to move inward, his index finger lightly teasing apart her folds.

"Hmm…you're awfully wet," he remarks with a smirk.

She bites her lip.

"Is that just for me?" he asks softly, dipping his finger inside of her entrance.

She makes a small sound, her head turning into his neck as he continues his slow strokes.

His finger lightly circles her clit and her knees buckle, but his left arm wraps around her waist, supporting her weight and holding her securely against him.

"You feel so good," he whispers, slowly sliding two fingers inside of her and curling them to apply gentle pressure on her inner wall. She whimpers, and he removes them, deciding that he wants to move things into the shower. "C'mere," he says, keeping his arm around her as he guides her toward the tub. He tests the temperature of the water and seems satisfied, supporting her as she steps over the side and under the spray. He comes to stand behind her, watching as she tilts her head back and allows the water to soak her hair and skin. He reaches for the bottle of body wash and squeezes some into his palm, rubbing his hands together and smoothing it over her skin. He reaches around her to caress her breasts, trailing his hands down her sides. He guides her hands to rest against the tiles before her. "Spread 'em," he teases, smiling at her gentle laughter.

"You gonna frisk me, officer?" she asks.

"You bet your ass I am," he replies, continuing his exploration of her curves.

Her fingers tense on the wall as he draws his hands toward her center, and she gasps as he closes the remaining distance between them making her aware of his erection.

"You don't waste any time," she says breathily, trying to continue their banter, but then all power of speech is lost as his fingers lightly dance along her clit as he nudges himself against her entrance.

His arm wraps around her waist, his chest coaxing her to lean forward as he thrusts inside of her. She moans as he begins to slowly move within her. The heat from the shower is making her feel light headed, and she relies on him to keep her steady as he continues the slow rocking motion within her. His fingers continue to lightly stroke her, causing her walls to tighten around him and heightening both of their pleasure.

She's still sensitive from before, but nonetheless it catches her off guard when she feels the tension already starting to build within her. "I'm close," she pants, her head dipping forward as she feels him slowly push back inside of her.

"I know," he rasps. "I've got you."

He never picks up the pace, and this time when she feels the pleasure overtake her, the waves roll through her like a gentle tide, one after another as he continues his movements within her. He feels her grow heavy in his arms and he eases her backward, slowly lowering them until they are seated and she rests against the wall of his chest. He continues to slowly rock up into her until his own release claims him once more.

* * *

She relaxes against him, the warm water of the now full tub rippling against her skin. They have been sitting in a comfortable silence, but as more time passes, she begins to wonder what's on his mind. "You okay back there?"

"Mmm," he responds ambiguously.

"El?"

"I've been trying to make up my mind about something," he replies darkly.

"What about?" she asks hesitantly.

"Whether or not I can trust you."

"Trust me?" Her breathing quickens. "Why would you ask me-"

He sets his jaw, his mind made up.

"I'm going to tell you something, and I need you to listen very, _very_ , carefully."

There is a shift in his demeanor that frightens her. "El?" she asks nervously.

He wraps his arm around her waist. The gesture isn't meant to be reassuring. It's meant to restrain.

"I'm going to tell you this, and before I do, I need you to promise me that you won't do anything stupid."

His tone is low, deceptively calm, but she isn't fooled. She tenses against him, immediately on edge.

His arm tightens around her. "Because it's _very_ important that you remember where you are right now."

She shivers at the threat, her vocal chords failing her as she begins to panic.

"Are you hearing me?" he purrs dangerously into her ear.

She nods quickly, her eyes wide and her breath coming in shallow pants.

"I'm not who you think I am."

His words spread through her system like ice in her veins. "W-what do you mean?" she asks shakily, her voice small, weak.

"The name's Keller."

She freezes, her mind racing as she tries to remember why it's familiar…and then she remembers. God she doesn't want to remember, but it hits her at full force: the rumors swirling around the precinct about a convict at Oswald that might as well have been Elliot's twin. She remembers hearing the report that a group of inmates had organized an uprising that resulted in the deaths of several corrections officers and facilitated their escape. Two had been re-arrested. Two remained free.

She has never been more terrified.

He's still inside of her.

She tries desperately to scramble away from him, but he jerks her back against the wall of his chest. She struggles to get up, but she has no leverage, her feet slipping uselessly against the slick bottom of the tub. His arm is like steel around her waist, trapping her against him, and as she thrashes against his hold she feels him begin to harden within her.

She cries, fear and pain eclipsing pride and dignity.

He puts his hand over her mouth. "Stop," he commands roughly.

Her chest is heaving. She knows his name, but can't remember the details of his crime. She knows he's a murderer. She wonders if he'll kill her right there. She wonders if it will be quick – if he'll snap her neck with one swift motion, or if he'll prolong her suffering. She wonders if Elliot will be the one to find her body. Her shoulders shake against him, her sobs muffled by his palm.

" _Stop._ "

She stops struggling. She knows it's futile.

"That's it," he says quietly, acknowledging her compliance.

What might otherwise have been construed as an attempt at reassurance only makes her cry harder. Her tears are blurring her version, and she can't catch her breath. She wonders if passing out might be the best possible option.

"Now, I'm going to take my hand away, and you're not going to scream. And you know why?"

She shakes her head.

"Because that way nobody gets hurt."

She sniffs and nods.

He slowly pulls his hand away, testing her. When she doesn't scream, he moves his arm to wrap around her shoulders instead.

 _Keep him talking_. Her training kicks in.

"Why?" she manages, taking in a shuddering breath.

"I saw a beautiful woman in a bar," he murmurs against her temple.

She hates that his voice still affects her the way it does.

"I wanted to buy her a drink." His fingers idly trace patterns with the beads of moisture on her shoulder. "Just so happens she mistook me for someone else."

Fresh tears escape and roll down her cheeks.

"And not somebody she wanted to give the time of day," he continues. "I was intrigued. So I followed her home."

She shivers at the image of him stalking her, and he tightens his arms around her. God, if only she had recognized the danger she was in. Her entire body starts trembling violently as she realizes that the trust she had placed in the hands of the person she had thought to be her partner had actually been placed in the hands of a murderer.

"I had no intention of harming you."

She whimpers in fear and he realizes his poor choice of words.

"I _have_ no intention of harming you. I wanted to know what he had done to make you hate him so much…but that's not the case, now is it?" His inflection makes the question rhetorical.

"You know nothing about me," she snarls.

Immediately, his hand is at her throat, gripping her harshly. "Try again," he growls in her ear.

"Let me go," she tries in vain.

His voice drops again. "I know what it's like to love someone you can't have... I know that the loneliness and pain sometimes become more than you can bear... I know the rage…"

She tries to pull away but he stops her with his iron grip and a sharp thrust upward. She cries out in surprise, her still sensitive walls clenching around him.

"I know the rage that builds within you until you're desperate for some relief." He thrusts upward again, more gently this time, and she bites back a moan. He keeps his arm firmly around her waist but lets go of her throat, moving his hand down her slick body, cupping her breast in his palm. "You can only take so much." He rolls her nipple in between his thumb and forefinger and her head lolls back against his shoulder.

"Stop," she pleads.

He smiles, relaxing his hold, continuing to move within her at a torturously slow pace. "I know how good you feel around me," he purrs seductively into her ear. He draws his hand along her abdomen as he continues his manipulation of her breast.

Her breathing is shallow and she is struggling to prevent herself from rocking against him. He knows this.

His hand trails lower toward the crux of her thighs.

God she wants him to touch her.

He doesn't. He slips his hand over her hip, teasingly stroking the flesh of her inner thigh.

The feel of the water rippling against her isn't enough to soothe the ache.

"I know how badly you want me to touch you right now." He stills his movements and she makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat. He chuckles.

"Fuck you," she rasps, rolling her hips to try to entice him to move again.

He takes a hold of them, preventing her from continuing, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh.

She winces.

"I want to hear you beg."

"Go to hell."

"Uh-uh-uh," he chastises her.

Her hands grip onto the sides of the tub.

"Just one little word will take the pain away." His fingertips massage the dips of her pelvis and she bites back a moan.

She gives in. "Please," she breathes.

"Louder," he commands, his hands starting to drift toward her center.

" _Please_ ," she repeats, her voice pained.

He slowly rocks within her. "Say my name."

"Please don't make me say it," she implores him.

He stills again. "If you want this, you're gonna fuckin' say my name," he warns. "Say, 'Please touch me _Chris,'_ " he instructs her.

She whimpers, knowing that if she calls him by his name, she'll be admitting that she is begging _him_ to continue.

He pulls out slightly and rams himself upward as he yanks her down against him. She isn't prepared for the deep penetration and she lets out a startled cry. She knows it was meant to hurt. It was a warning.

"Please touch me C-Chris," she hears herself respond.

"That's better," he says, his tone low.

He begins a steady rhythm, pumping in and out of her slowly, deeply. His right hand finally skims lower until his index and middle fingers press against her clit, stroking her as he moves in and out of her. She moans as her walls tighten around him. She feels every inch of him as he pushes and pulls within her. The feel of her enveloping him causes him to grow even larger, and with every thrust he is filling her more deeply, stretching her more than she thinks she can bear.

He hears her high pitched gasp each time he buries himself to the hilt, feels the way her body tenses in anticipation.

"Am I hurting you, baby?"

She shivers. She doesn't know what to make of the seemingly attentive question, nor the pet name. She quickly shakes her head.

"You're lying," he calls her out, pulling out of her completely.

She whimpers in protest.

"Easy," he soothes, wrapping his arms around her and coaxing her to turn around. "C'mere," he instructs, sliding her up his body as he helps to situate her. He runs his hand along her back and beneath her, reaching to position himself at her entrance without making a move to push inside of her. "You do it," he tells her, raking his fingers through her hair.

She looks at him in confusion, trying to reconcile his current actions with his earlier aggression and forcefulness.

He sweeps his eyes over her face, taking in her reddened eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. "I already told you, I have no desire to cause you harm." He rocks against her, gently nudging himself against her entrance.

Her eyes drift closed and she slowly lowers herself onto him, biting her lip at the twinge of pain it causes her.

He massages her scalp with his fingertips, rubbing his other hand in slow circles on her lower back. "Relax, baby."

Two more tears escape and roll down her cheeks, splashing onto his chest. She doesn't want him to be gentle. It just serves to further confuse her already muddled mind. At least if he's forceful it would make it easier to separate him from the man she wants him to be.

"Look at me."

She swallows and meets his gaze, his blue eyes boring into hers – blue eyes that are virtually identical to the ones she wishes were before her. Her chin quivers and the tears begin to fall freely. She squeezes her eyes shut again, trying to stave off a complete emotional breakdown.

He leans forward trailing his lips over her tears. "I'm not him," he murmurs, "but you don't have to be lonely tonight."

He brushes his thumb across her mouth, tugging on her lower lip to open her to him as he moves his mouth to cover hers, his tongue invading the warm depths as he tangles his hand in her hair.

She wraps her arms around his neck, allowing him to take control. She doesn't want to think. She wants to feel. She wants to lose herself completely. She no longer cares about the danger, the deception. She wants to take the escape he's offering her.

He trails his hand down her back and sits up straighter causing her to slide even further down onto his erection.

She wonders if anyone has ever touched her so deeply. She begins to move over him, her hips rocking subtly back and forth, reveling in the feel of him inside of her.

He slides his hand from her hair down to caress the side of her face, her neck, over her breast, teasing and tugging her nipple until she moans into his mouth, her movements over him becoming more pronounced. He knows she's sore from before and holds relatively still for her, keeping himself deeply embedded within her as he matches her movements with gentle thrusts of his own.

Her head lolls back as he hits a particularly sensitive spot and he uses it to his advantage, his mouth descending onto her right breast as he continues his manipulation of her left. She arches into his mouth and his teeth close around her nipple causing her to cry out as her hips buck against him. He raises his head, his hand sliding from her breast to her collarbone, coaxing her to arch backward over his arm. She allows him to do so, slipping her hands from around his neck as he eases her further and further backward until she feels the warm water lapping at the crown of her head.

He flattens his palm against her torso, sliding it up along her abdomen and in between her breasts, watching them sway as her hips continue to rock against him. He trails his hand back down her body, his path slow and deliberate as he moves lower until his thumb brushes her clit. She gasps, her walls clenching around him as her movements become more desperate. He teases her, varying the degrees of pressure against her, occasionally slipping his thumb in a circular motion and causing her to arch against him even more sharply. He tests her, beginning to slide in and out of her in longer strokes. He holds himself back, but when she doesn't protest his movements he starts to pick up the pace, her walls tightening around him like a vise.

She is losing herself in the sensations he is causing and she is no longer aware of the soreness between her legs, the pain transforming into indescribable waves of pleasure with his every thrust.

He watches her. Her arms are hanging limply at her sides, partially submerged in the water. She's completely open to him. She's gorgeous.

"Do you trust me?" he grinds out.

"No," she says without hesitation, struggling to open her eyes to gauge his reaction.

He smiles. "Do you trust me not to hurt you?" he clarifies.

"I…ohhh."

He smirks at the power he has over her in this moment. He wants more.

"I-I don't know," she stammers once he stills the motion of his thumb, her eyes meeting his as tinges of anxiety flit over her features.

He bends over her, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Wanna play a game?" he rumbles, his chest rubbing against her breasts.

She holds his gaze uneasily. She knows he's going to test her, to see how far her trust extends. She swallows.

He studies her, his smirk deepening as he resumes his manipulation of her clit, stroking her slowly, deliberately. "Trust me," he purrs, rolling his hips.

She moans softly, nodding her assent. Olivia Benson does not back down from a challenge.

He places a light kiss on her lips, raising his head and looking down into her wide brown eyes. He lifts her up slightly, still supporting the bulk of her weight. "Wrap your legs around me," he instructs.

She nervously pulls her lower lip into her mouth and complies with his directive, rising up further onto her knees and shifting her weight to either side as she works her legs around him.

The corners of his mouth lift into a dangerous smile. "Now, take a deep breath."

Her eyes widen even more. "Chris-" she implores him fearfully, her hands flying up and clutching onto his biceps.

He adjusts the placement of the arm beneath her shoulders so that he cradles her head in his palm. He brings his other hand up to stroke her cheek, his fingers removing a wet strand of hair from her temple and tucking it behind her ear. "So long as you do as you're told, you'll be fine," he tells her.

She tenses as the reality of the situation rushes over her with a vengeance. God, what is she doing? She's painfully aware of the fact that his game could easily become deadly one if he so chooses. She knows his strength…his volatility. She shivers at the thought and it causes her nipples to harden even more.

"Take a deep breath," he repeats, his expression inscrutable.

He waits, studying her, and as soon as she takes a breath his lips crash down onto hers, the weight of his torso pushing her underwater as he falls on top of her. His hand prevents her head from hitting the porcelain, all sounds muted by the warm water that surrounds them.

He continues to kiss her deeply and begins to move inside of her again, his fingers teasing her clit. She arches into him, struggling against the impulse to gasp. She grips onto his shoulders tightly, extremely aware of the fact that she is wholly dependent upon him for her next breath. Again and again he plunges inside of her. She begins to feel the burn in her lungs as her oxygen depletes, her throbbing pulse intensifying the sensations building in her core.

He knows that she's close and drives into her even more deeply, his fingers as relentless as the rhythm of his thrusts into her ever-tightening center.

She's almost out of air but she's no longer afraid. All fear has been eclipsed by the incredible sensations coursing through her body. She's bucking and arching uncontrollably beneath him, the ripples of pleasure becoming stronger and stronger until they suddenly overtake her.

She stills abruptly, every muscle in her body rigid, and his strong arms swiftly yank her from the depths a moment before she shatters. She clings to him, gasping for breath as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her. He fights to stave off his own climax for as long as he can, gripping her hips and burying himself inside of her again and again until the feel of her walls convulsing around him proves too much to bear and he explodes within her.

* * *

Long after he's come down, she continues to ride out the aftershocks. The water is growing cold and he leans forward, keeping one arm securely around her as he reaches behind her to trigger the valve to drain the tub. He leans back again, resituating her in his lap and wrapping his other arm around her. She's trembling in his arms and he takes the opportunity to skim his hands over her body knowing that it's only a matter of time before she pulls away. He knows she won't let him touch her again – not by choice. Her skin is smooth, flawless, her body toned but feminine. She's beautiful. He feels her inner muscles clench around him every so often, gradually subsiding as more time passes.

She needs to move. She knows this, but her limbs are uncooperative. She feels lightheaded – weak. The word stands out in her mind. She _is_ weak. She's weak for letting him touch her, for giving in – Christ, for begging him to continue. The more her awareness returns, the more she remembers the chilling reality of the situation. He knows she's a cop. He knows that all she has to do is pick up the phone. A single call and he'd be on his way back to prison. She knows that he will take any measures necessary to preserve his freedom.

He feels the tension return to her body and knows that she's panicking.

"Welcome back," he tells her with wry amusement.

She straightens, averting her eyes as she takes hold of the edges of the tub and tries to scoot herself backward.

He doesn't let her, his arms locking around her torso. He's barely expending any effort. He doesn't need to. She has no strength left.

She feels the sting of tears again and she fights to keep them at bay. She closes her eyes. "Let me go," she pleads softly, her body slumping against his in defeat.

He observes her quietly for a moment before wrapping his right arm firmly around her waist, his left pushing against the side of the tub as he stands with her. The water level has lowered, now barely reaching his calves. Her legs limply slide down the sides of his, once again making contact with the bottom of the tub. He feels the muscles of her thighs quivering against his and continues to support the bulk of her weight. He knows that she would be unable to stand on her own, though she would never admit this.

She feels him slip out of her and the feeling of emptiness is her undoing. Silent, bitter tears flow from beneath her closed lids, her chest jerking against his as she grieves the loss of the man she never had to begin with.

He says nothing, extending his arm to turn on the water, testing its warmth and then pivoting her so that she is leaning back against his chest. He does not switch the flow to the showerhead, but instead collects the water in the cup of his hand, lightly splashing it over her lower body. He lets go of her long enough to squeeze some soap into his palm, coating her thighs and center as he gently washes her.

She chokes back a sob, continuing to cry silently as his hand slips along her folds.

"Shh," he soothes against her temple.

His fingers briefly dip inside of her and it suddenly dawns on her that she had allowed him to come inside of her without protection. She takes in a shuddering breath, her eyes flying open at the realization. With Elliot there would have been no need. She was on the pill and she trusted him. Yet Keller was about as far from safe as anyone could possibly be.

"Oh God," she whimpers aloud, her voice breaking as she is gripped by another wave of panic and regret.

His brow furrows. "What is it, baby?" he ventures quietly.

"…so stupid…"

He manages to make out the words uttered almost inaudibly between jerky breaths. He is confused for a moment but then comprehends her unspoken concern. He shakes his head against her. "I'm clean," he murmurs, the way her stomach spasms against his arm a confirmation that he'd guessed correctly. "I'm clean, baby."

" _I promise you,"_ he wants to say, but knows that his promise would mean nothing to her.

She is desperate enough for his words to be true that she almost believes him. Yet to believe him would be to believe the man who had already deceived her in the worst possible way – the man who made it his business to lie and manipulate to get whatever it was that best served his interests at any given moment.

She feels sick to her stomach and she wrenches herself out of his grasp, stumbling over the side of the tub. She doesn't stop for a towel, snatching her robe from the back of the door and pulling it around herself as she unsteadily makes her way into the darkened living room. She hears the water shut off and knows that he is coming after her. She hurriedly rifles through the pocket of her jacket, finding her cell phone, and is heading toward the drawer in the end table where she stores her off-duty weapon when his deep voice stops her.

"Put the phone down."

She whirls around to find him standing six feet away. She can just make out his silhouette in the darkness, droplets of water occasionally catching the moonlight as they drip down his body. Even like this – nude, unarmed – he's an imposing presence. Her heart pounds in her chest and she glances over her shoulder, desperate to reach her Sig.

She decides to make a dash for it.

She hears him rapidly approaching, and just as her fingers graze the drawer, his strong arms grab her from behind.

"No!" she cries out, her legs flailing as she struggles against his hold.

He pries the cell phone from her hand, flinging it across the room with such force that it shatters against the wall. His hand clamps down over her mouth, forcing her head against his shoulder and muffling her cries of protest. She uses both hands to pull at his arm, but his left arm snakes around hers, crushing them against her chest. She screams though it has no effect, her legs continuing to kick as she tries to connect with any part of him. He shoves her against the wall, curtailing her movements as she sobs into his palm.

"I thought I warned you not to try anything stupid," he growls menacingly.

The water from both of their bodies is seeping through the silk of her robe, chilling her as effectively as the cold fear brought about by his words. He tightens his grip on her jaw, intensifying her sobs as she helplessly waits for him to decide her fate.

"I told you I never wanted to hurt you. All I asked was that you do what you were told."

She whimpers in response, her tears continuing to coat the back of his hand.

"Am I wrong?" he snarls.

She uses what little mobility she has to shake her head.

He leans into her, using all of his weight to pin her more tightly against the wall. His voice drops to a threatening whisper as he moves his mouth over her ear. "If I'd wanted you dead, you'd be floating in that tub right now."

She shudders, struggling against him to no avail.

"But let me be crystal clear," he warns, "I'll do whatever it takes to stay out of Oz." He shifts his hand, completely obstructing her airway as his thumb and forefinger close around her nose.

Her eyes widen in terror and she becomes frantic, using all of her strength to try to dislodge his hold.

He chuckles, her actions having absolutely no effect.

She stills, trying to conserve her air. She hopes that he'll let go of her if he believes she's given up, but the more time that passes with no sign of him having any intention of relaxing his hold, the more panicked she becomes.

"It's a shame it had to come to this," he murmurs. She lets out a small whimper of pain and fear, her body becoming heavier in his arms. He pulls her away from the wall and arches backward, causing her body to drape limply over his chest. He releases her arms, which immediately fall like dead weight to her sides, and moves his arm to encircle her waist.

Her robe has come untied in the scuffle and another tear slips down her cheek as she wonders if he will leave her like this – exposed and crumpled on the floor. Her vision is becoming cloudy and she lets out one last whimper – a plea – praying that he'll spare her.

It's so faint that he barely hears her, but it's when he feels her nostrils and chest begin to spasm in a desperate final attempt for air that he finally releases her.

She gasps, sobbing and choking as she tries to take in large gulps of air.

He bends down, hooking his left arm beneath her legs and scooping her up into his arms.

Her head automatically turns into the crook of his neck, seeking the comfort and tenderness he had offered her earlier. When she recognizes what she's doing, it only serves to make her cry harder. She's become the personification of Stockholm Syndrome. What's worse, she realizes that in this moment she doesn't care, so long as he can take the pain away. She wants Elliot, but Elliot isn't there. He hasn't been there for longer than she'd care to admit. Maybe she's weak, maybe she's needy, but God, she just wants somebody to hold her.

He carries her to the sofa intending to put her down, but her hand is weakly clutching onto his shoulder and he changes his mind. Instead he sits down with her in his arms, slipping his arm from beneath her legs and wrapping it around her torso.

His hand cradles her head and he rocks her so gently that she wonders if she's imagining it.

"Shh…I'm sorry," he murmurs as she continues to weep into his chest. He's not going to offer her the other words of reassurance that threaten to spill from his lips – the promises to keep her safe from harm. He needs her to be afraid of him – to be unsure as to the bounds of what he might do to her. His freedom depends upon it.

Eventually she falls silent, her chest still reflexively jerking against him. The silence is so all-encompassing that it catches him off guard when her small voice reaches his ears.

"What was your crime?"

His brow furrows. "You already know what I was in for," he responds.

"I know," she whispers, "but I…I mean, who did-"

"No women, no kids," he cuts her off. "Okay?"

She nods almost imperceptibly.

He pulls back to look at her and she's suddenly aware of her state of undress, her robe still open and bunched at her waist. He reaches toward her and she flinches, afraid that he'll touch her again – use her body's response against her – but instead he takes a hold of the edge of her robe, drawing it over her. She attempts to sit independently, pushing herself up on shaking arms as she works to slide off of his lap.

He helps her, slipping out from beneath her legs as she eases herself back against the arm of the sofa. He watches as she wraps the robe more securely around her body, pulling her knees into her chest. Her eyes remain downcast. She's ashamed. He takes in her vulnerability, her fatigue, and is once again struck by her beauty. He wonders how any man could forsake her.

He stands, looking down at her for a long moment before slowly moving to open the drawer that she had so desperately hoped to reach. He pulls out her weapon, tilting it in his palm, observing the way the sleek metal catches the moonlight. He knows that she's aware of his actions, though she does not turn around. He studies the rapid rise and fall of her shoulders, her trembling hands.

He walks away, the gun a casual extension of his arm, and stoops to pick up his jeans from the floor. He returns and places the gun on the counter, the heavy clunk resonating dully in the silent room. He dresses slowly, as if he has all the time in the world, pulling on his shoes, refastening his belt, but he leaves his chest bare, his shirt dangling loosely from his hand. He tosses it over the back of a chair, moving to pick up the weapon once more as he slowly approaches her.

His imposing frame looms over her and she closes her eyes, her fingers tightly gripping onto the fabric of her robe. She tenses as she feels the cool metal trail down her cheek.

He tucks the barrel beneath her chin, tilting her head back to study her.

"Look at me," he demands quietly.

Her breath hitches and she forces herself to meet his gaze.

He slips the gun from beneath her chin, lowering himself to sit on the coffee table before her. He rests his forearms on his thighs, shifting the gun from hand to hand. After a moment he stills, his eyes holding hers. He extends his arm toward her, taking hold of her right hand and pulling it to him. He bows his head, his lips caressing the inside of her wrist and then he straightens, placing the gun in her palm.

Her brow furrows in confusion as he lets his hands fall away.

"It's yours," he tells her, his body language calm.

Her breathing quickens, her eyes widening at his actions. "Don't think I won't do it," she warns him, her voice trembling.

He says nothing, his expression knowing, patient.

Her hand is shaking. It may as well have been Elliot sitting before her.

He reaches toward her, lightly grasping her hand and directing her aim so that it is level with his heart, leaning forward until his chest presses against the barrel.

"I will," she whispers brokenly as her eyes well with tears. She knows that she will never be able to pull the trigger.

He offers her a sad smile. He understands. She is no more capable of ending his life than he is of ending hers. He slides his hand up her arm, brushing the hair back from her shoulder and cupping her face in his palm. Her expression is stricken, pained, and he swipes his thumb over the tears dampening her skin.

She wasn't even aware that they were falling.

"I know," he murmurs before pulling his hand away, his fingertips grazing the nape of her neck as he stands.

She watches his blurred form slowly back away, moving to retrieve his shirt from the back of the chair as he heads to the door. He is halfway through when he pauses with his hand on the doorknob, turning his head over his shoulder. "Be seeing you," he says with a smirk, before disappearing into the hall.

She jumps as the door closes behind him, and as the first light of dawn filters in through the windows, she is still seated on the couch with her gun shakily trained on the door.


End file.
